


Collection IV (2018 Summer Mini Challenge)

by KY Lowell (TachyonStar)



Category: Star Ocean: The Last Hope
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-08 17:51:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15935357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TachyonStar/pseuds/KY%20Lowell
Summary: Trying to write some characters I usually wouldn't. Also shenanigans. Many of them.





	1. Cream

**Author's Note:**

> Yep.
> 
> What can I say, this fandom eats me alive and I enjoy every last minute of it.
> 
> (Also totally blaming [Featherhead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Featherhead/pseuds/Featherhead) for the fact I'm doing this in the first place. YER FAULT, WOMAN.)

"Is something the matter, sir?"  
  
The words, and the cup being set in front of him, startle Kenny out of his thoughtful brooding, and he glances up to see Heinz - datapad in hand as usual, holoscreen broadcasting some dull report or another - giving him a concerned smile, and a brief familiar feeling of fond gratitude washes over him as he shakes his head. "No - of course not. I was just considering some things," he pauses, reaches for the cup and drinks; it shouldn't surprise him by now, as long as they've worked together, but he's still somehow a little pleasantly baffled that Heinz always remembers precisely how he takes his coffee, no sugar but a generous splash of cream to cut the bitterness of the sludge that HQ functions on like some sort of life-giving elixir. "Nothing you need worry about. But...thank you."  
  
"No need to thank me," Heinz says, as he always does, takes a brief glance at the datapad and then seems to merely dismiss its contents from the way he turns his head away, instead pulling out a chair so that he can sit down across from Kenny and quietly watch him. It's sort of a routine, by now; it's unlikely that either one consciously realizes they're doing it until they've already begun, but all the same, neither makes any real effort to stop it either (as if they'd ever really want to, far too used to the comforting familiarity of it all.) "I don't suppose there's anything I can help you with? It's a bit unlike you to be so...distracted."

Kenny blinks - has he been distracted? He genuinely hasn't noticed (which, perhaps, is the point, he finds himself thinking wryly, and he nearly laughs.) "No, I don't think there's anything. You could say I'm...merely trying to wind down a bit. It's been one of those days where I can't seem to get work off of my mind--" and that's something he'd never admit to anyone else, but after so long, any fear or embarrassment he might have had about letting Heinz see him so vulnerable has long since vanished. "...That in mind, there is one question that I'd like to hear your answer to, however. With each passing day, we get that much closer to our eventual goal. When we get there - what do you think is going to happen?" A loaded question, and he _knows_ it, but if he can't get the thought out of his head, maybe a trusted opinion can at least help him relax a bit - as cruel as that might be, he can at least be sure it won't cause offense.  
  
Heinz considers, lips pursing briefly, and sets the datapad absently down in front of him, reaching up to slowly adjust his glasses in the way that means he's thinking hard about how precisely to answer. "When we get there," he begins slowly, trails into another long moment of silence and then shakes his head a bit. "Honestly, I've thought about this a fair bit myself and I'm still uncertain. Best case scenario, I suppose, is that it's everything we've been looking for - a new home, a _safe_ home, where we can start over and pray we don't repeat the same mistakes once again. On the other hand, worst case..." he shrugs helplessly, and the briefest of discomfited looks crosses his face, but it's a testament to his control and willpower that it's gone almost too quickly to notice. "We never find it, and everything's been for naught. I doubt it's going to end up at either one of those extremes, however. We're going to be needed for quite a while to come, even if we reach that goal...us, and our successors. Consider it job security of a sort."  
  
Kenny snorts a laugh before he can help it, shaking his head, and he's pleased to see the smallest of smiles on the corners of Heinz's lips for a moment. "Hah - job security, indeed," he murmurs, lets another chuckle slip and then goes serious again, giving a slow nod. "That's precisely how I feel. Thank you - and I'm sorry for the uncomfortable question." He considers a moment, eyes Heinz, and then abruptly slides the coffee across to him with an apologetic smile. "I think you need this a bit more than I do right now."  
  
"Do I look that tired, sir?" But Heinz smiles wryly, already knowing the answer to that, and obediently reaches for the cup, taking a long drink as he half-closes his eyes. He's never really been much for coffee, especially this sludge that masquerades as an actual beverage, but this is more a symbol of _familiarity_ \- sharp bitterness tempered by the slightest note of something more innocuous and unoffensive, and he's smiling more genuinely by the time he lowers the cup.  
  
He doesn't say anything; he doesn't need to. Neither of them does.  
  
He merely finishes off the sorry excuse for coffee, and as he reaches for the datapad again, absently licks the film of cream from his lips.


	2. Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's too hard to stop thinking, but finding some sort of peace with those thoughts can be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: had to swap this prompt in because the original, "stern", just wasn't giving me any ideas.
> 
> Also, can bowstrings even be made out of aramid? I'm guessing they can, since Future Technology (tm). Maybe there's some sort of elastic aramid fiber available by then.

She inhales deeply, fixes her eyes on the target and wills her mind blank, wills herself to focus.  
  
It's harder than one would think; it always has been, her thoughts never quite still, her inner turmoil never quite reaching equilibrium. Too many memories and too many emotions gnaw at her despite all her efforts to push them away, and while she likes to think she's grown quite adept at ignoring them by now, they still always come back to her when she's least expecting it. Sometimes she thinks it's as if she'll never be free of it all, as if it'll worry at her forever, and while she _knows_ logically that just _can't_ be true, it's all still just--  
  
No - she doesn't need to be thinking about that just now. Another deep breath, trying to draw singleminded determination over her like a cloak, closing her eyes for just a moment before she reaches for an arrow, nocks it with practiced ease.  
  
Focus.  
  
She draws back the string, eyes locked to the target. Focus.  
  
Deep breath. Release.  
  
For just a moment, she's jealous of the arrow's flight - straight and true, piercing dead center, it never once strays even the slightest bit from its path. Unlike her emotions, unlike her.  
  
But there's no time for those thoughts, and she forcefully pushes them to the back of her mind, reaches for another arrow.  
  
Focus. Release.  
  
Maybe she can't find equilibrium, but after a while there's something comforting about the curve of the bow in her hands, the _twang_ of the aramid string as it sends arrow after arrow speeding towards the target, and that's good enough.  
  
It has to be good enough. She can't give up now.


	3. Especially

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By now, teasing from Myuria is pretty much inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I am entirely blaming a specific PA for the general idea of this, let me just say that RIGHT now.
> 
> (I mean, really. "Sometimes us girls need to get our hands on each other." Myuria, what are you even implying. ~~And can I watch?~~ )

"I've noticed," Myuria says idly, twirling her mostly-empty glass between her fingers and watching the remaining liquid swirl, "how well you and the boy work together."  
  
Even despite her best efforts, despite the way she's firmly trying to tell herself that Myuria _doesn't_ mean it in anything but an innocent manner, Reimi can feel her face going red, and she's sure the way she quickly turns her attention more fully to her weapon must be suspicious but what else is she supposed to do? "...Of course we do," she says lightly, putting on her most unbothered tone, checking the tension of the bowstring with practiced ease though she's already done that at least three times by now. "Edge isn't hard to work with. That's how it's always been for as long as we've been training together - he's always watching out for whoever he's with, planning his own moves around theirs. You've noticed it for yourself, haven't you?" --and she immediately thinks that she probably shouldn't have asked that question, but it's too late for that--  
  
Myuria hums something almost a stifled laugh, gives the glass one last halfhearted spin and finishes off her drink, delicately crossing one leg over the other in a picture of lazy contentment. "Oh, I'm not denying that - but that's not what I meant. _You_ and _he_ work especially well together," she puts a softly amused emphasis on the words, and politely pretends for Reimi's sake that she doesn't notice the Earthling is going red all the way up her ears by now. "Don't get me wrong; it's a very good thing. The importance of having someone like that at your back, someone who working with is as easy as taking a breath - that's something that can never be overstated. You're lucky." She gives Reimi an indulgent smile, though she knows it won't be noticed, and leans back against the bar, setting her glass aside. "You'd best take good care of him, you know. If you don't...well, he's a little too wet behind the ears for me, really, but I suppose I could make an exception..."  
  
"I - it's not like that!" Reimi exclaims before she can think to temper her indignance, and she's sure that isn't helping her case in the least, which only flusters her more. "We're not...we're just friends - don't be getting any ideas--"  
  
"Hmm," Myuria says, another indulgent smile on her lips. "If that's the case, then you wouldn't mind if I _did_ decide I'd like to have some fun with him?"  
  
Her hands tighten on her bow, so firmly she can feel it flexing in her grip, and Reimi forces herself to take a deep breath, to try and get a grip on the jealous anger welling up in her. Myuria's _teasing_ her, that's all, that has to be all - right? "...I don't own Edge," she responds, a little flatly, takes another breath and gets up. "If - if that was what he wanted--" but she can't make herself go on, the rest of the words bitter on her tongue, like an insidious poison.  
  
"Relax, girlie. I'm only kidding." Myuria laughs, gets to her feet as well, dropping a little pat to Reimi's shoulder as she passes by her, heading for the stairs. "For what it's worth - he's just as lucky. Anyone with half an ounce of sense would do anything to have a cute girl like you."  
  
Reimi flushes brilliantly red again, stammering, but by the time she can think of even a half-coherent reply, Myuria's already well out of earshot and she's left alone with her embarrassment, taking deep breaths and willing herself calm. Honestly, by now she should be _used_ to things like that, it's not as if Myuria holds herself back from teasing _all_ of the Calnus crew whenever she gets the chance - but, even so...  
  
She shakes her head hard, pushing the thoughts away, looks down at her bow and takes a deep breath. Maybe some time in the battle simulator will make her feel better...or at least too tired to think about all of this quite so hard.


	4. Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always fun to share a pleasant memory with a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shup, I headcanon that Edge carries around a picture of his dad.
> 
> (Maybe one of his mom too.)
> 
> I wasn't really trying to write them quite so shippy, but apparently I can _only_ write them that way. Ah well.

"Edge," Faize says curiously, leaning in to peer over Edge's shoulder with an expression of interest. "What are you looking at?"  
  
Startled out of an introspective reverie, Edge just blinks and doesn't say anything for a moment, until it sinks in that he's being spoken to and he whips around to look at Faize in surprise. "Sorry, I didn't even hear you come in--" he gives a soft huff of a noise, not quite a strained laugh of faint annoyance at himself, and holds up the photograph he's been looking at so Faize can see it better. "...Sometimes I just like to look at this and...remember, I guess. It's always been one of my favorite memories..." Trailing off, he exhales a quiet sigh, looks at Faize again with an apologetic smile. "Anyway, never mind that. Did you need something?"  
  
Faize doesn't answer immediately, just reaches out to touch the slick, faded surface with an almost-reverent fingertip, gingerly tracing the lines of each face - one familiar, if so much younger than he's used to, and the other similar enough he can make a decent guess as to who it might be. "This is...you and your father?" he murmurs, quietly, uncertainly.  
  
"...Yeah." Edge nods, something wistful in his eyes now, staring distantly at the photograph as if he can somehow see _through_ its surface to the time it was taken, to the time when it was not memory but immediate reality. "It was...just after I turned six years old, I think. Dad had been really busy with his work, it was the first day he'd had in a long time where he could just relax and spend time with me...he hadn't been able to celebrate my birthday, so he threw me a party that day instead, and we spent the whole day just having all kinds of fun. I remember wishing it would never end, I was enjoying myself so much." He grins a little, sheepishly, absently lowers the photograph, setting it on the table in front of him. "I swear I don't get all sentimental like this all that often. It's just a really important memory to me."  
  
"No, I understand. Holding onto fond memories isn't a bad thing." Faize moves to sit down next to him, offering a soft, reassuring smile. "And...I'm rather honored you shared that memory with me, as well. From what I understand about Earthlings, sharing something as personal as that with someone is a symbol of great trust. I - I suppose it's a bit surprising, really, but--" blushing faintly now, he shakes his head, folds his hands in his lap, looking very much reminiscent of an obedient schoolboy with his straight but deferent posture. "If I've really earned your trust so deeply, I...well, it's a great honor. Thank you, Edge."  
  
Edge blinks slowly, a little baffled, rubbing the back of his neck absently as he tries to figure out how precisely he ought to respond to that. He doesn't want to inadvertently insult Faize, or make light of what he said, but... "Ah...there's no need for all that, really - of course I'd trust you, we're friends, we're allies - you're part of my crew..." and he's just _fumbling_ now, so he gives a small, almost self-deprecating laugh, shakes his head and puts a hand on Faize's shoulder, hoping to reassure. "What I mean to say is, you don't have to think about it so hard. Really."  
  
"But," Faize starts, looks at him a little bit uncertainly, then gives a small weak laugh of his own and glances away, faintly embarrassed. "No, you're right. I suppose there doesn't really have to be a reason or a meaning, I just..."  
  
"It's fine, I get it." Edge squeezes Faize's shoulder lightly, offers him a soft, easy smile. "You want to make it fair, right? Return the favor. You don't _have_ to, but if you wanted to, you could tell me about a good memory of your own?" And he hopes beyond hope that isn't overstepping somehow - for all Faize still has yet to learn about Earthlings, he himself has just as much to learn about Eldarians, and sometimes it seems like he forgets that till just the wrong moment.  
  
Thankfully, Faize doesn't seem to take offense; he brings a hand to his chin, deep in thought, the normal sharp focus in his eyes softening a little to something almost distant. "A good memory of my own," he repeats, a little uncertainly, tilts his head slowly to stare off into nothing. "Well, I suppose - they're rather childish, to be honest, but...I do have a few..."  
  
Edge shrugs, settles himself a little more comfortably, eyes inquisitive. "Childish or not, it doesn't matter. I'll listen. They're important to you, and that's what matters."  
  
That makes Faize blush, and from the way he looks away quickly, he _knows_ it - but he's still smiling a little as he draws breath to speak.  
  
"I still remember the first symbol I ever learned," he begins, and closes his eyes to immerse himself in the memory as he retells it.


	5. Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowe can't help but worry, no matter how much he knows Arumat can take care of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Clearly I can't write anything un-shippy involving these two either.
> 
> Vulnerable Arumat is fun, too.
> 
> (And you don't want to know how long it took me to pick some _innocent_ stuff out of my Eldarian physiology headcanon.)

The skin beneath Crowe's fingers, as he gently tends Arumat's wounds, is surprisingly warm.  
  
By now, he's grown used to some of the more basic quirks of Eldarian physiology - things like lower body temperature, slower heart rate, enhanced hearing and vision - and they don't throw him off any more, so it's startling and maybe a little bit worrying that Arumat is so warm to the touch right now. The last thing they need is for one of those wounds to be infected, or for some sort of illness to set in - it isn't as if he can make _proper_ Eldarian medicines in the middle of warp, the ship's stores are already low on the materials they need to make their own treatments and there's no guaranteed chance to restock for a while yet... "Hold still," he says absently when Arumat squirms, tries to shift away from the antiseptic-soaked cloth that's currently dabbing at his side. "I'm almost done."  
  
"You said exactly that almost fifteen minutes ago." Arumat's voice is a low, petulant growl, his eyes promising retribution, but he obediently goes still again, briefly baring his teeth at the sharp sting that comes when Crowe presses the cloth firmly to that wound for a moment. "I didn't believe you then, and I believe you even less _now_."  
  
Crowe snorts a soft laugh at that, lifts the cloth away and peels the backing from the adhesive edges of a large bandage, pressing it into place over the wound with a satisfied nod. "I meant it this time. That's the last one." He sits back, inspects his work and nods again - if he's honest, he's likely overdone it a bit, but better safe than sorry. "Take it easy for a couple of days. That means no battle simulator," he says sternly, before Arumat can speak, and he has to fight not to grin at the utterly indignant look he gets in response, though the serious mood quickly takes over again. "Hey, pass me my scanner, would you? You feel a little warm, I'd like to--"  
  
Arumat interrupts with a sigh, rolls his eyes with a slow, exquisite annoyance that would make even the sulkiest of teenagers proud, folding his arms and shaking his head. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop worrying about me? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And I'm _fine_ ," he tacks on when Crowe pouts, sighing again and closing his eyes into a wince that clearly reads _save me from idiotic Earthlings_. "Don't look at me like that. Will you shut up if I give it to you?"  
  
"Maybe," Crowe shrugs, holding out a hand. "Give it here."  
  
"Why do I even bother asking. You never shut up." But where the statement might have been insulting from anyone else, something in Arumat's tone makes it sound almost _fond_ , almost like some strange term of endearment, and that might just be the faintest hint of a tolerant smile on his lips as he reaches for the palm-sized device, slaps it into Crowe's hand. Honestly, when he thinks about it, he feels almost like he's starting to get _used_ to this, and perhaps most unsettling of all is that he can't really find that as bad of a thought as he'd like to. "I expect you'll find nothing wrong. You're just being paranoid."  
  
"It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you," Crowe says absently, directing the infrared beam along Arumat's body and frowning at the display. "Heart rate normal, respirations normal, temperature normal...that's strange. I could have sworn--" he cuts himself off with a petulant twist of mouth, reaches out again with his other hand, pressing curious fingers to Arumat's skin. "No, you _do_ feel warm, but...alright, I'm officially confused. Maybe I'm just tired." He sighs, lowers the scanner and rubs a hand over his face. "...Feels nice, though. The warmth, I mean."  
  
"And you get mad at me for not resting." Arumat studies the Earthling critically, takes in the slightly distant set of his shoulders, the lines of exhaustion on his face, and feels a sudden rush of sympathy. No matter how annoying it is, Crowe really has been working hard to keep him - and everyone - safe, and that's something he can respect. "Come here," he finds himself saying before he knows he's going to speak, reclaiming the scanner and putting it aside, then capturing Crowe's arms in a firm grip to pull him closer, a little relieved when he doesn't resist. "You won't be doing anyone any good if you don't take care of yourself. You know that."  
  
"...I know." Crowe swallows hard, trying to fight down the sudden vulnerability in his voice, and frankly he's a little glad when he's close enough to bury his face in Arumat's shoulder just so he doesn't have to _look_ at him. "I just - everyone is counting on me, Arumat. I can't let them down. There's no _time_ to do anything but just keep going..." he trails into a shuddering sigh, brings his hands up to clutch at Arumat's biceps, feeling distinctly pitiful. "I'm sorry. Listening to me whine is the last thing you need right now."  
  
Arumat snorts softly, shifts a little so he can put an awkward arm around Crowe, tilting his head to murmur quietly at the ear not pressed against his shoulder. "Someone told me once," he begins, lets his eyes lid closed, reliving faint memory. "You can only be a good leader if you let those who follow you see the _real_ you. Show them your vulnerability, show them your fear. Let them see they're not _alone_ \- that you're just as human as any of them." He can't help a wry, humorless smile, pushing back the thought that he's really being a bit of a hypocrite right now, but - what else is he supposed to do, really?  
  
Crowe doesn't say anything for a long moment, considering that; when he finally looks up, it's with a smile, wobbly and uncertain but still _there_. "...So does that mean you're considering yourself one of my followers?"  
  
"I didn't say that." Arumat frowns at him, feeling an ear quiver underneath its covering in faint embarrassment. "Are you going to shut your mouth and get some rest now?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm sorry." Crowe's shoulders sag a little, tiredly, and he closes his eyes, tilts his head in to rest against Arumat's neck. "...For what it's worth? I'd follow you any day if I had the choice."  
  
Arumat's ear trembles again, and he swallows down an embarrassed growl, though he's sure by now Crowe can _tell_ how much he's trying to act unaffected. "Just go to sleep."  
  
Crowe chuckles, softly, breathily, and settles a little closer to do exactly that.


End file.
